“But I’m telling you, I can’t fit that in on top of everything else!” 

“I don’t care, just get me those reports by the end of next week, figure it out. Your schedule isn’t my problem, man.” 

A frustrated whine tore itself from Jasper’s throat as he turned and almost stomped out of his boss’ office, only some dim sense of propriety and the ever-present urge to be seen as more in-control than his otherwise meek appearance would suggest keeping him from bursting out in angry shouts. This was the absolute last thing he needed: another set of reports to complete for his work as an analyst, on top of all of the extra work piled on his plate with his co-workers away on holiday for the week, and preparing for a massive, potentially-career-defining review the week after. It was all just too much. 

Barely even stopping, he grabbed his coat from beside his desk and continued moving, out the door to the offices of the barely-breaking-even firm he worked for, down the suspiciously creaky elevator, out onto a backstreet cast in twilight. Shrugging the oversized coat over a willowy pair of shoulders, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started on the walk home. 

He knew why he was getting treated like this: he was always the most innocuous in a room, a wispy, waifish figure, mistaken for a masculine woman half the time instead of as not-so-masculine man, which was plenty enough reason for every peer, supervisor, and boss he’d had to just lump him with whatever work other people didn’t want to do. A faint sigh drifted from a round, soft face, cast in a deep frown, eyes nearly hidden behind a fringe cut just for that purpose. He’d have to cancel some plans if he wanted this done. 

Pulling his phone out and checking his calendar – trying to not think too hard about how crammed it already was, mostly with enormous chunks marked “work on work” – Jasper groaned as he realised that he, once again, was going to have to call off one of the desperately few chances he had to talk to his even fewer friends. It was hard to keep up regular conversations when so much of his time was spent sleeping, crunching numbers, or transitioning between the two. Sighing, he tapped the contact for his friend, and braced himself. 

Only a few moments passed before the bright and breezy, and ever-so-enviously-relaxed, voice of his friend Olive picked up. “Heyhey, Jaspy, what’s up?” 

“The usual, Liv, the usual.” Jasper mostly failed to keep the frustration out of his voice, but powered on regardless. “I’ve been stuck with another assignment, and I don’t think I see myself making our hangout this week, sorry! It’ll get better after this…probably…” His shoulders tensed a fraction beneath the coat, expecting some explosive reaction. 

Instead, Olive just let out a sympathetic sigh, which was almost worse. “Oh, honey! That’s no problem, you gotta get through your work, but, you know, this is good timing! I’ve just sent you a little thing that helped me de-stress a whole bunch and made it way easier to fit things into my schedule, it ought to have just been delivered honestly. It’s a supplement, but this stuff is the real deal, I mean it.” 

A slight grimace broke out on Jasper’s face as he turned onto his home street. “A supplement, Olive? Really?”

“Trust me! It’s just one pill, but it’ll make everything better. Try it for me?” 

The grimace was replaced with a faint blush – Jasper had always had a weakness for that sort of attack, and he was sure Olive knew what they were doing, but that didn’t make it any less effective. “Oh, fine, I’ll think about it. Thanks for accommodating me, and sorry again.”

“No problem, cutie, enjoy yourself!” On that strange note, Olive hung up. Jasper looked at his phone for a few moments, trying to untangle the phrasing, but he had just reached the outer door to his apartment complex, and had to steel himself for the journey to the top floor. 

By the time he’d reached it, out of breath from the climb, he had barely enough energy left to note the thick, unmarked brown envelope lying on his doorstep, pick it up, and slump through the entryway into his tiny flat. 

He shucked his work clothes as he stepped through the long, thin corridor leading to the main room; tie pulled off and hung up for the next day, jacket next to it, shoes kicked off and haphazardly moved aside, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the top of a hairless chest, belt loosened. Reaching the cramped but cozy room, with a single sofa crowded into one corner opposite a tiny TV and a kitchenette over to the other side of the room, Jasper simply collapsed onto the sofa, letting out a sigh he’d been holding in all day. 

Idly, he thought about breaking out a few of the toys stashed away in the drawer at the end of the bed, the subject of an overenthusiastic few sessions browsing the web for egregiously oversized lumps of silicon, but that only caused another groan to eke its way out of his throat. He’d had so many fantasies of taking those massive plugs and dildos, but with his schedule and the pressure building up on him nonstop he’d never had the time to even attempt to start practicing and stretching his hole. Right then, the only thing he could reliably take was a pathetically small training plug that made him feel more depressed than turned on. 

Hauling himself off his back, he turned his attention to that brown envelope sitting, somehow ominously, on his table. Opening it up, he found a translucent brown plastic bottle, unmarked save for one word on the side in a dark blue font: “Fixx.” Inside, a single pill, similarly bland, just a neutral grey. “Weird…” Jasper muttered to himself, but shrugged it off. Olive was a good friend, and he trusted them to not send him something that’d leave him some sort of catatonic wreck come morning. What’s the worst that could happen? He popped the bottle open, spilling the contents out onto his hand and subsequently into his mouth, too quick to notice a sudden splash of bright red emerging from inside the pill, swallowing it down shortly after. 

When nothing immediately disastrous happened – no surprise there – he stood up and shuffled over to his kitchenette, planning to make a start on feeding himself for the evening, although he had never really found the time to learn to cook well. Again, hardly a surprise. As he went to open his fridge, though, a faint twinge pulsed through his body, a shiver of something happening, although he couldn’t pinpoint what. It travelled through him, not an unpleasant sensation at all, and yet still strange. 

Slowly, steadily, the sensation began to concentrate in one particular spot; right between his legs. Out of nowhere, he could feel lust starting to bubble through him for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, and it was hitting him hard. His shirt was suddenly far too stifling, his trousers unseemingly tight around a pulsating bulge, and he needed them off. Hastily stripping, he made his way back to the sofa, thoughts of dinner abandoned amidst the twitching, pulsing pleasure coming from every movement. Lying back, hot flesh suddenly meeting cold faux-leather, he hissed as he wrapped a hand around his cock – not really his favorite way to get off, but his mind was lagging behind his body by a long, long stretch. 

The very first stroke pulled a whimper from Jasper’s mouth, letting his head fall back and his eyes close as he kept up the motion, squirming from the sensation. His mind flashed at first with his usual fantasies, the old reliables that served just fine to get him off, but a faint tug in his mind kept pulling in a different direction. Himself, viewed from above, on his hands and knees, an entirely impossible toy lining itself up to enter his hole, surrounded by dozens of discarded dildos and plugs he knew were fresh from inside him. He bit his lip as he pictured that enormous shaft – ribbed and studded with bumps, and far larger than his own fist – pressing against his hole, easily slipping inside, pulsing with pleasure as every textured spot pushed further inside. He moaned aloud, flooded with lust, as that imagined toy sank deeper and deeper, until he abruptly stroked his way to the edge in time with it hitting the base. 

And then he stopped. 

A grunt of frustration turned into a strained frown as his body teetered on the edge of orgasm, no matter how frantically he stroked his cock, which itself was starting to wither and soften. The grunt turned into a whine as the fantasy continued to play in his mind, keeping him desperate, lust clouding his thoughts. Everything felt so hot, his skin against the sofa so sensitive, but no matter how he writhed and squirmed and groped his totally unresponsive cock, no matter how desperately he rutted against his hand, he was stuck on the edge. 

A thought flashed through his mind, and by the time he understood it his hand was already acting, pulling away from his limp cock and reaching back, around an ass that felt far, far more round and inviting than before, to press against a hole he knew was tight, untrained, and far less pleasurable than he hoped. As soon as his fingers met that slick, inviting pucker, though, everything changed. 

First one, then two, then three of his fingers easily slid inside, his hole practically inviting them in, and an overwhelming burst of pleasure immediately overwhelmed all of his thoughts. He barely even noticed the orgasm, or the spurt of watery cum spraying out of his still-soft cock, because his mind was far too focused on the fact that he was full, and he wanted more, he needed bigger, he was so, so desperate to stretch and be fucked and open up wider and wider. His whimpers and moans filled the room, fingers pumping in and out of his newly discovered fuckhole, perfectly slick and inviting despite his complete lack of lube, and another orgasm rocked through him just moments after the first. After that, though, he could feel a shift inside him – his fingers, suddenly, were no longer enough. He whined, twisted, shoved a fourth finger inside, and that carried him to the edge once more, but it wasn’t enough to properly push over and coax out another spurt from his almost-forgotten cock. 

Pulling his hand free was an agonizing experience, not on a physical level, but from the crushing sensation of emptiness that struck him to the very core. It wasn’t a desire, it wasn’t lustful thoughts, it was a fundamental need to have his ass, no, his fuckhole filled. He surged to his feet, skittering out into the hallway towards his bedroom, and came up short as he caught sight of himself in the kitchen’s mirror. He turned, eyes wide, at the change that had come over him. He was practically an Adonis, all perfectly tuned muscle, impeccably soft skin that practically glowed, smooth and sharp jawline, the very icon of a slim, muscular twink, and that impression only improved as he turned to wiggle his rear at the mirror. He grinned at himself, preening, but a sudden pulse ensured that the ache in his fuckhole took priority.

He raced into his bedroom, scattering a pile of clothes from his bed and hopping onto it before turning and grabbing that long-neglected drawer of barely-used sex toys, almost drooling from his desire to be filled. Inside, he found far, far more dildos and plugs than he remembered, immediately grabbing hold of a knotted shaft that he somehow simply knew would be perfect inside him at that exact moment. Not caring for lube, preparation, anything, he reached back and pushed it allll the way in. 

Jasper’s moan from that first stretch could probably have been heard all the way out on the street, and if not, the next few definitely were. It was as if his entire life had been leading up to this moment, as the satisfying strain on his sphincter sent tingles of bliss all through his body, every thrust, every knot or ball popping past the rim of his hole another moment of perfect pleasure, not a single toy in that collection too thick or too long for his desperate, eager, and intensely pliable fuckhole. He could feel his entire existence narrowing down to that sensation, a focus coming over him as another toy was discarded for no longer giving him enough of a stretch. 

Suddenly, he knew what was next. He didn’t even need to look at the always-filled drawer of toys, didn’t even need to think about how his wardrobe was steadily shifting to be filled with far, far sluttier outfits, didn’t notice that the decor in his bedroom had taken a turn for the depraved. He reached back, balled up his hand into a fist, took a deep breath, and pushed. 

His eyes snapped open as his own wrist popped into his fuckhole. Fireworks exploded in his head, every nerve alight with lightning-hot pleasure, and every movement was set on autopilot as he started pistoning his own hand in and out of that pliable hole, the ring gaping wide open on every pull and eagerly receiving his fist on every push. Total satisfaction flooded his body, mixed with pleasure, combined into one mixture that could only be felt as a continuous, ongoing orgasm. 

Jasper idly reached down between his legs with his other hand, a mild worry itching in his mind about spewing loads out onto his sheets, only to find nothing but a smooth, featureless expanse of blank skin where his cock used to be, as if there had been nothing there to begin with. Any panic over the discovery was completely overridden with sensation, as he suddenly understood his new nature – the perfect bottom. Always hungry for something, anything to fill his desperate hole, and completely, totally focused on taking, taking, taking. It was perfect. It was exactly what he needed. 

As another orgasm finally faded and demanded even larger insertions than his fist, he turned to look above his bed, groaning in wanton, hedonistic abandon as he laid eyes upon the very toy that had been in his fantasy at the start of the night. He reached out, grabbed hold of that firm, studded, ridged shaft, placed it on his bed like a tower, and positioned himself over it. A breath, a whimper held in for a moment, and he let himself sink down. And down. And down.

The next morning, hours after Jasper would normally have been at work, grinding away at tasks that left his brain numb, a mostly-back-to-normal version of him rolled over in bed, groggy and hazy, a hand fumbling its way over to his phone. Opening it up, and casually swiping away the dozens of notifications from his boss that suddenly just didn’t matter as much as they used to, he opened up Olive’s contact, calling her once again. He sighed happily as she picked up, and in a voice that was just a little bit closer to how he wanted to sound, he greeted her with;

“So, how do I get another dose?”